


to the bone

by pantheras (rewindmp3)



Series: out of the ordinary [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, [mark lee voice] taeyong mom johnny dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewindmp3/pseuds/pantheras
Summary: there comes a point when it becomes too much, but it’s their burden to bear, alone. always alone.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Mark Lee & Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee & Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: out of the ordinary [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684090
Comments: 20
Kudos: 211





	to the bone

**Author's Note:**

> can be read as a standalone fic, but if you want more johnyong dynamics and their getting together story, then read [hoodie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262716)

Something is wrong with Mark.

Something is _very_ wrong with Mark, but Taeyong doesn’t think that any of the other members have noticed it at all, not even Donghyuck. But, then again, how could they?

Taeyong and Mark were in a different _continent_ mere hours ago. They’ve been on set for a few hours now, too, and that’s precisely why Taeyong thinks something is wrong.

The thing about Mark is that he never really shows when he’s tired. He never knows how to stop _working_ , and it’s one of the things Taeyong both loves and hates the most about him.

Mark had been quiet on the plane ride back, before he knocked out, in a way that he usually wouldn’t allow himself to be. Taeyong hadn’t said anything then, because between filming promotional videos for their latest 127 comeback, touring with SuperM (and all of the flights and rehearsals and stress that came with trying to deliver a _perfect_ performance every time), and squeezing recording and lyric-writing sessions into any spare moment that they had, they were both _exhausted_.

So, Taeyong hadn’t said anything. Instead, he had let Mark rest his head on his shoulder as Mark fiddled with his phone, for a few futile moments, before drifting to sleep. Taeyong followed soon after, nuzzling his cheek against the crown of Mark’s head, and in what felt like no time at all, a manager was shaking them both awake.

The plane had landed, they had gotten their luggage, and had been immediately shipped off to the filming site where the rest of 127 were. Mark hadn’t said anything the entire time, and Taeyong had started to worry, but still, he had chalked it up to exhaustion.

Taeyong wishes he hadn’t done that.

The reason why he thinks that something is wrong with Mark, now, is precisely because Mark isn’t really talking. He’s still reacting and laughing and playing around with the other members like he usually does, but there’s something _off_ about it, like the spark that makes everything Mark does _Mark_ isn’t there. Call it leader duties, call it being a good hyung, call it his mother-hen instincts—Taeyong can’t really describe it at all, other than he _knows_ , in his gut, that something’s wrong.

He knows Mark won’t tell him about it, if he asks. Mark absolutely won’t say anything until he reaches a breaking point, and even then, there’s no guarantee that Mark won’t just lock himself away for a few hours, have a meltdown, then pretend like everything is fine when he’s done. Taeyong and Mark are similar in that way. They understand their roles and the job that they need to do and would sooner collapse than grit out a word of actual complaint. He wonders if Mark would tell anyone, if any of the other members would be able to coax it out of him. Donghyuck, maybe?

But as much as Donghyuck and Mark are friends, Mark is still, technically, older, and it’s a responsibility that he’s only taken more and more seriously over the years.

He narrows his eyes. Donghyuck. Taeyong hopes Donghyuck is doing okay right now, too, worries for the way that he’s suddenly been pulled into five thousand different directions at once, with both Dream and 127 activities and an old injury flaring up to top it all off.

Donghyuck seems to be handling the sudden uptake in schedules really well, though, burning brighter than ever before despite the exhaustion and the strain on his body. But that had been Mark, too, and Taeyong, before years and years of wear and tear jaded them, sometimes going so far as to dim the lights inside their eyes and tame the fire in their bellies.

And now Taeyong’s brain is a maelstrom swirl of Mark and Donghyuck, his 127 _babies_ , and then he starts worrying about fucking _everything else_ and then he’s spiraling, thoughts pulling his lips into a frown that has no place being on his face, in front of other people, in front of his members and the staff and the cameras. He’s the _leader_. He can’t do shit like this.

He’s so stuck in his head that he doesn’t realize that someone is coming up to him, doesn’t realize that anyone is standing next to him, until he feels a warm grip encase his palm, forcing his hand away from his mouth, which had been anxiously picking away at his fingers. He hadn’t realized he was doing that, either.

Taeyong doesn’t need to look at who’s standing besides him. He knew who it was as soon as he became aware of the hand wrapped around his.

“What’s wrong, Yong?” Johnny whispers, careful so that his voice isn’t caught by the five thousand cameras all around them.

Taeyong turns to look at him, then, turns and sees the concerned furrow of Johnny’s brows. _Shit_ , Taeyong thinks to himself, _I really need to learn how to control my face_. He tries his best at a smile, a small quirk of the lips, and shakes his head.

“Nothing,” Taeyong answers, but that only makes the furrow deepen.

“Yong…” Johnny starts. There’s worry, there, of course, but there’s also a warning. _Remember what we talked about_ , the warning says. _Remember when we told each other that we wouldn’t hide?_

“Later,” Taeyong acquiesces with a grimace. Johnny only looks more and more concerned, and Taeyong wishes he could reach for him, wishes he could smooth his thumb over the high plane of Johnny’s cheekbones, wishes he could erase the worry clouding Johnny’s eyes, but he _can’t_ because _cameras_.

“I promise,” Taeyong says. The smile he offers this time is small, still, but sincere, and Johnny nods slowly, agreeing to drop the subject for now.

Johnny squeezes Taeyong’s shoulders briefly, the most he can do when they’re surrounded by so many people who aren’t their own, and walks in the direction of the stylist who’s gesticulating wildly at him to get back into the changing room so he can switch outfits.

Taeyong spends the rest of the shoot trying to pretend like everything is normal as his brain flip-flops between keeping an eye out for Mark (who, Taeyong notes grimly, is _still_ not his usual self) and trying to fix his face so Johnny will stop shooting him concerned puppy dog glances when he thinks that Taeyong isn’t looking.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Needless to say, it doesn’t work.

They finish their shoot as well as they could have, and Taeyong rushes to thank all the staff who have worked so diligently with them. Mark looks like he’s about to keel over. Not physically, though. Physically, he’s doing fine, does the typical 90-degree bow, returns Donghyuck’s jabs, and appropriately reacts to Yuta’s play-flirting. But there’s something about Mark that Taeyong _still_ can’t place—maybe his eyes? his aura?—that makes his worry spike.

Taeyong maneuvers himself next to Mark, when they’re piling themselves into vans to go back to the dorms, and guides Mark’s head to his shoulder again.

It is both heartwarming and heartbreaking at once, the way that Mark lets himself go boneless against Taeyong’s side. Taeyong gathers Mark’s limp hands into his lap, laces their fingers, and squeezes.

It’s not nearly enough to convey everything that Taeyong wants to say, but he hopes that the gesture lets Mark know that he’s always going to be there.

“Thanks, hyung,” Mark mumbles. His breath tickles Taeyong’s collarbones and his hair is itchy and stiff from the product that still hasn’t been washed out, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. He nuzzles his cheek against Mark’s head like he did a few hours ago, when Mark’s hair was soft and slightly curly.

When he meets Johnny’s eyes through the rearview mirror, Johnny’s gaze is so achingly fond that, for a moment, Taeyong can almost believe that everything is fine.

Taeyong doesn’t fall asleep this time, so he knows exactly when they reach their dorms. He shakes his head slightly at their manager, when he tries to wake Mark up. Instead, Johnny comes over to their door after letting himself out, and cradles Mark in his arms as Taeyong collects all of their bags.

There’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them to bring Mark to their floor. They tuck Mark into Taeyong’s bed and close the door to let him continue sleeping. Taeyong doesn’t even care that Mark’s still in his outside clothes.

The rest of 127 are on the other floor, no doubt arguing loudly over what to eat, and Taeyong finds himself so incredibly thankful that his members have organized this, amongst themselves without consulting him, to allow him and Mark to rest.

Johnny leads them into the kitchen, where he immediately fills a kettle with water and puts it on the stove.

Taeyong slides into a chair at the island, waiting for the question he knows will come as the water boils.

“What’s wrong, Yong?” Johnny asks, a verbatim, carbon copy of his question on set.

This time, Taeyong has to answer.

The only thing is, he’s not even really sure what’s wrong. It’s just a _feeling_ , and if it’s just him—if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him as it so often does, and he’s overreacting—then he doesn’t want to make Johnny worry as well.

Johnny walks over, then, and takes the seat next to Taeyong. Johnny’s hands are gentle as they guide Taeyong’s fingers away from his mouth, voice even gentler as he repeats, “What’s wrong, Yong?”

Taeyong sighs.

“I’m just… worried about Mark, I guess.” Johnny nods, reassuring and urging Taeyong to continue. “He seemed kind of out of it on the plane ride back, and the whole time we were on set, I just had this nagging feeling that something was wrong. Like, I can’t pinpoint it at all. On the surface, he seems fine, but there’s something telling me that he’s not and I can’t ask him about it because if something’s wrong then he’ll _definitely_ lie and say he’s fine and retreat further in on himself and then he won’t talk to me _even more_ and-”

“Breathe, Yongie,” Johnny chastises lightly.

“I’m worried about him, John,” Taeyong sighs again.

“I know,” Johnny answers, “and I know you’re also worried about whether your concern is irrational or not, so let me just say that you’re perfectly within reason to worry about any of us at any point in time, okay? I mean, obviously I’d rather you not, especially about me, because you have so much to do as it is, but your feelings are perfectly valid.

“As for Mark, now that you mention it, maybe he did seem a little off during the shoot. I’ll help you keep an eye on him, and then we can figure out what to do, okay? He’s a smart kid, Yong, you know that. Even if he won’t come to us first, if we go to him and he can tell that he’s about to snap, he’ll talk to us. He always does.”

And there really is nothing quite like Johnny to ease Taeyong’s heart. Even if Johnny can be shit at dealing with his own emotions sometimes, if there’s anyone who knows exactly how to deal with Taeyong’s, who knows exactly what to say and how to say it, it’s Johnny.

Taeyong smiles, again a little, genuine thing. This, too, Johnny knows.

“Okay,” Taeyong murmurs. “Okay.”

“Chin up, angel,” Johnny says as he hooks his index finger under Taeyong’s chin, tilting it upwards so Taeyong’s looking at him. Johnny pecks him on the lips, and before Taeyong can kiss him back properly, the kettle shrieks behind them. Johnny rushes to turn the heat off, so the shrieking doesn’t disturb Mark, and Taeyong giggles as his endearingly silly boyfriend flails his impossibly long limbs.

Chin up, indeed.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Except, it’s been days since Mark first started acting weird, and at this point, everyone else has caught on as well. Perhaps it is evidence of their synergy that none of them bring it up around him. Everyone still acts like they normally do, and pretends not to notice if Mark is a little more lackluster than he usually is.

If Mark has all but attached himself to Taeyong, nobody mentions that either.

Taeyong gets it, really.

Mark had said once, in an interview, that he and Taeyong walk out of meetings about their schedules and look at each other, and that look alone is enough for both to understand the tests they are about to put their bodies and minds through. He had said, in that interview, that they rely on each other, had hinted that this was an experience shared by only the two of them.

For all that Taeyong cherishes his members, in any NCT unit and in SuperM as well, there is truth to Mark’s words.

Taeyong doesn’t think there has been anybody _but_ the two of them—Taeyong and Mark, Mark and Taeyong—who have been pushed as aggressively since _predebut_ to shoulder the same amount of work. It’s _hard_ , when you’re so young, to be asked so much. Taeyong doesn’t think there’s anybody _but_ Mark who understands.

They have practice after practice after practice, and sometimes, Taeyong can barely keep the unit that he’s working for straight in his head. Taeyong and Mark, too, are constantly writing. This, of course, is a choice. Or, at least it was a choice at first, when both were eager to prove themselves not just as idols, but as _artists_.

Now, while Taeyong still loves composing and writing lyrics and knows Mark feels the same, it can feel like the heaviest burden.

There are times when Taeyong wishes he could simply stop existing.

Not for any real reason other than the fact that he’s _tired_. He’s so, so, so _tired_ all the time and there is so much weight on his shoulders from being in so many projects and he was never one who was truly _good_ at talking to people, at handling things, and now he has to do that on a scale he never could have anticipated. He’s grateful, of course he is, for all the opportunities that he’s been given, but he's _tired_.

So, yeah, there are times when Taeyong wishes he could stop existing. Not in an active way, not in a desperate way, but with a quiet, muted, passive yearning that buzzes in the back of his brain and makes itself known at the most inconvenient of times. 

But, he thinks, if he stopped existing—if one day, he simply disappeared—what of the people around him? What of his parents, who worked so hard to raise him, or his older sister, who’s always loved him so very fiercely, who’s taken care of him through everything? What of Johnny, who loves him more than Taeyong can fathom, more than Taeyong knows what to do with? 

What of Mark, who Taeyong wants to tuck under his arm, to act as a shield between his pure, kind, industrious soul and the cruel, ugly world? Who would protect Mark, then, if Taeyong simply stopped existing?

So, despite the exhaustion he feels, despite the sealed box he sometimes wishes he could lock himself away in, Taeyong doesn’t.

Taeyong continues existing for those around him, for the people he loves.

He wants only to help, not hurt, not worry, not pain.

But it seems that’s what he does, anyways.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Taeyong wishes he could simply stop existing, and then he _really_ wishes he could simply stop existing.

He’s up at ass o’clock again, unable to sleep. He grabs for his phone and doing so is a mistake not only because of the way the brightness burns his eyes, but also because of all the furious headlines that greet him. He’s trending, again, and it’s bad, again, and Taeyong is so, so, so _tired_.

“Taeyong!” Johnny bursts into his room, voice quiet but urgent. There is no light that spills in from the hallway because everyone is asleep and resting, as they should be. Everyone but Johnny.

Taeyong looks up from his phone, where the comments are piling up, glaring at him through the screen. Johnny’s staring at him, wide-eyed and frantic but steady and solid like Johnny has always been for him. Taeyong marvels at how Johnny always seems to know, but he hates himself a little for it too, because Johnny shouldn’t have to have a radar for when Taeyong’s life and reputation are crumbling into pieces.

“ _Please_ tell me you haven’t looked at any of that shit,” Johnny begs.

It's funny because Johnny never really begs. He's been through a lot, and Taeyong has watched him weather so many storms on sheer force of will alone. It's one of the many reasons why Taeyong loves him. And yet, here he is—strong, resilient, powerful Johnny—begging because of Taeyong. It makes something in Taeyong’s stomach sour.

“If I told you that,” Taeyong replies slowly, “I would be lying. And we promised each other that we wouldn’t lie.”

“You know that none of it is true, right?” Johnny asks. “You know that whatever fucked up shit they’re spewing at you isn’t what we feel, right?”

And sure, Taeyong knows. Objectively, he knows that he is loved, that the accusations are just that: accusations.

But when his name gets dragged through the mud every _fucking_ time one of his units is about to do anything, like every time he thinks 127 are about to make it big, he begins to wonder what his worth is. Why is he still there if he’s only holding everyone else back?

If he’s not awful for the reasons all the netizens think he’s awful for, then he’s awful because his blameless members all have to be associated with him, isn’t he? If he shouldn’t be kicked out of or leave the group because of the stories they’ve spun about him, he should because it’s the only way NCT will ever break out of this relentless cycle, shouldn’t he?

He knows how this will go. He knows that the company won’t do shit, especially not publicly, and he knows that it’s going to be his members who suffer the most. He knows that the company will pull in people to do Vlives or post on Bubble or send Community texts to do damage control. He knows that Mark will probably—no, definitely—have to do something to help extinguish the angry flames of slander Taeyong seems to ignite by simply _existing_.

Mark shouldn’t have to do that, not now, not ever. Taeyong is his hyung and his leader. It should be his job to protect Mark—to protect his entire team, who shouldn’t have to constantly put out the fires that Taeyong leaves in his wake—not the other way around. Especially not when it’s been _so long_ and Mark is still surrounded by storm clouds.

And Johnny shouldn’t have to worry about him like this. Johnny shouldn’t have to help Taeyong fight these demons, because these demons shouldn’t exist in the first place. Johnny deserves someone perfect, because Johnny is perfect, and Taeyong is never, _ever_ going to be that.

Johnny moves away from the door, carefully shutting it behind him. He lifts Taeyong’s covers and climbs in, gathering Taeyong up in his arms. Taeyong finds himself with his head tucked under Johnny’s chin, with his ear flat against Johnny’s chest. He knows Johnny’s heartbeat well enough by now to realize that it’s beating too quickly. He knows Johnny well enough by now to realize that it’s because he’s worried and anxious and Taeyong grimaces because he knows, too, that it’s all his fault.

Taeyong feels Johnny’s arms tighten around him, feels the gentle kiss that Johnny places into his hair. He takes a deep inhale and it smells just of _Johnny_. There’s no Jo Malone or hair spray or makeup or post-performance sweat, and while it doesn’t make Taeyong feel any less guilty, it’s _Johnny_ and Johnny is comfort and care.

“I know,” Taeyong whispers into Johnny’s chest. He’s been quiet for perhaps too long. His words don’t make himself feel any better, but he hopes that he can ease a little of the worry that he knows is eating away at Johnny’s mind.

It’s not technically lying if Taeyong theoretically _knows_ , right? It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t _feel_ that way, right?

The only thing that matters is the way Johnny’s heartbeat has slowed.

If the guilt consuming him doesn’t allow Taeyong to join Johnny in slumber, only he has to know.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Taeyong climbs out of bed and heads to the studio before Johnny wakes up.

It’s what he _does_ , at this point, when he doesn’t want to face the world. And Taeyong certainly doesn’t think he can stomach the sight of his members right now, or the sympathy and concern that would no doubt color their faces. They’d no doubt apologize for the defamation, too, and that’s another thing Taeyong doesn’t think he can stomach right now. As if Taeyong deserves their pity and concern.

 _He_ should be the one apologizing to _them_ , and he will, later, when he stops being a coward.

Later becomes a few hours, at some time between 8 and 9 am, when a manager comes and finds Taeyong in the studio and drags him into a meeting room.

The rest of 127 are already there, waiting. The guilt immediately doubles, triples, quadruples, and Taeyong can’t bring himself to look any of them in the eye. He sits as far away from them as he can. He doesn’t think he deserves to be close to them right now, when he, alone, is hurting the group so much and causing them so much pain.

There’s a debriefing, because there always is. There’s a sudden onslaught of lives that need to be scheduled and messages that need to be sent and selfies that need to be unearthed or newly taken, because there always is. Taeyong nods through everything and apologizes profusely for the inconvenience every time he’s addressed, because that’s what he always does.

When the meeting finishes, the staff members trickle out, but the NCT members stay.

Before anyone can even open their mouths, Taeyong says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you guys constantly have to cover for me, and work more than you should to fix my mistakes. If anyone doesn’t want to do what they’ve been assigned, if anyone isn’t comfortable with it… just let me know and I’ll see if I can work something out. I wouldn’t blame you at all. You guys shouldn’t have to do any of this, and you’re probably tired of doing it, just like our fans are probably tired of defending me all the time. And I’m sorry, again, that it’s because of me, and I’m even more sorry that we’ll never get the recognition we deserve because I keep fucking everything up for us.”

He’s looking up at the ceiling because he still can’t bring himself to look any of them in the eye. He’s looking up at the ceiling because doing so means he can’t tell if the burning in his eyes is due to the harsh lights or tears threatening to fall. He doesn’t want to find out.

“Yong…” someone says softly, voice thick. Except it’s not really _someone_ , because Taeyong can tell all of their voices apart blindfolded and with earplugs in, so he knows that it’s _Johnny_ , and the lump in Taeyong’s throat becomes even more difficult to swallow down.

“We’d do anything for you, hyung,” someone else says. Except it’s not really _someone_ because it’s _Mark_ , and his voice is stronger and more forceful than it’s been in _weeks_. Taeyong finally looks, then, really looks, and finds that Mark’s eyes are shining.

“I’d do a million lives in a day for you, if I needed to,” Mark continues, “and if there are fans who believe this shit or who don’t defend you, then they aren’t fans to me.”

“Mark…” Taeyong breathes out, bewildered. “You don’t-”

And then there are a cacophony of voices. The delicacy of the moment shatters—along with the oppressively quiet tension—as everyone else echoes their agreement. It’s infinitely more than Taeyong thinks he deserves.

“I’m still sorry, anyways,” he apologizes when it’s quiet again. “I meant it when I said that you guys shouldn’t have to constantly suffer because of me.”

“And we’re telling you that we’re not suffering and that none of it matters.” Mark’s voice is full of conviction.

“We’re not NCT without you.”

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Taeyong doesn’t quite bounce back in the following days. Mark doesn’t either.

Taeyong fares a little better. The guilt is still indescribable. He _knows_ he didn’t really do anything and that he couldn’t have controlled when this happened but he feels like crap regardless. Predictably, the company’s done jack shit other than force the other members to be hyperactive on social media. Taeyong, though, is on a ban. The company won’t let him talk to his TyongFs, and, even though he wants to reassure them that he’s doing alright, he’s honestly terrified to look at his phone.

He’s not at 100%, but he’s doing well enough that the members simply smile at him in understanding whenever he’s a little low on energy. It means he’s still acting like _himself_ , in spite of it all, and he’s got Johnny to thank for a lot of that—Johnny, who curls up next to him every night, whispering soft reassurances into his hair, even though Johnny hates cuddling.

There’s the worry, too, that keeps his own problems at bay. The worry will _always_ be more important, making sure that every single one of his members is _okay_ will _always_ be more important, than himself and his stupid reputation.

And right now, Mark still isn’t okay.

It’s when Mark starts messing up during practice that Taeyong decides it’s time for them to talk. Taeyong and Mark aren’t machines, but the company has made them pretty damn close. Meaning, the decision is less a matter of “Mark is affecting the group’s performance and the leader needs to intervene” and more a matter of “even when Mark is _really_ struggling, he’s still consistently basically perfect, so the fact that he’s making so many mistakes is a terribly bright red light for the state of his mind.”

Mark stumbles again and curses under his breath, eyebrows furrowed and sweat dripping down the side of his face. He closes his eyes, inhales, and bows at his members while apologizing. Around the room, nervous eyes flicker at one another. Taeyong’s are unmoving.

“Let’s take a break,” Taeyong says, gaze fixed on Mark through the mirror. “Don’t go too far. I’ll text everyone when to come back.”

Taeyong’s gaze falters once, searching for Johnny, asking him to stay. He finds that Johnny is already looking at him. They don’t nod in understanding, but they know. Taeyong feels a little bit of relief that he doesn’t have to do this alone.

Mark’s sitting on the floor now, cross legged, elbows on his knees, and shoulders hunched over in defeat. He probably knows what’s coming, but like the stubborn workaholic he is, he asks, “Hyung, can you turn on the music again?”

Taeyong sighs and moves closer. He wraps a hand around Mark’s nape and softly strokes the hairs at the back of Mark’s neck. Mark’s extremely sweaty, and, objectively, it’s kind of gross, but Taeyong doesn’t know what else to _do_ , right now, to offer comfort.

“What’s wrong, Mark?” Taeyong asks softly.

There is a beat of pause, wherein Mark seems to shrink even more. Finally, he grits out, “I don’t know.”

He sounds sad and confused, and so incredibly _frustrated_. It pains Taeyong to listen to because he’s heard this voice before, or an iteration of it. He hears it every day inside his own head. It plays on a loop, constantly, only giving Taeyong reprieve when he’s too busy to think about _anything_ else and it’s _terrible_.

“Mark-” Johnny calls from a few feet behind them. Taeyong can hear Johnny’s footsteps getting closer, and then Johnny’s sitting down next to them, placing his hand on Mark’s back.

“No, I’m serious. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. It’s like I’m living in a haze right now and I don’t know how to get myself out. I feel exhausted and hopeless all the time and I don’t know _why_ and I don’t know how to _fix it_ and I’m gonna lose my mind because I can’t _do anything_ and it hurts, everything _hurts_ , because I’m supposed to be _good_ , one of the best, but if I can’t fix myself, then what am I?”

“You’re still _you_ , Mark,” Taeyong says quietly. “You’re still the amazing kid with a heart of gold who works too hard and gives so much that people can’t help but love.”

Mark shakes his head, disbelieving, and Taeyong hates that his words are failing him when he needs them most. It’s _hard_ , when he knows exactly what Mark’s feeling, when he knows that hearing something and internalizing it are two vastly different things.

“Are you scared of disappointing yourself?” Johnny asks.

“No,” Mark scoffs. His answer is immediate and it’s so _bitter_ , so unlike any tone of voice Taeyong’s ever heard come from Mark’s mouth before. “I’m scared of disappointing everyone _but_ myself. I disappoint myself enough already.”

And this, too, is a sentiment that Taeyong deeply understands.

No matter what he does, no matter how hard he works, it never seems to be _enough_. He never seems to be _good enough_ , whether it’s leading or rapping or writing lyrics or composing or simply _being_. There’s always so much more to do, so much more to improve on, and the weight of it all—of expectation and duty and promise—is so heavy that sometimes it feels like he can barely lift a finger.

“I get it,” Taeyong replies. He knows his voice is heavy and sad when it should probably be light and cheerful, and there it is, yet again, something else he’s not doing well enough. “I feel the same way, Mark, you _know_ I do, but we have to keep going don’t we? For them, if not for ourselves?”

“Yeah,” Mark answers, “yeah, I know, and I keep telling myself that, but it’s not _working_ , hyung, and I don’t-” His voice breaks and so does Taeyong’s heart. He stops stroking Mark’s nape, scooching himself closer to Mark’s side and guiding Mark’s head into the crook of his neck. Mark takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know how to fix it and now I’m letting everybody down.”

“You’re not,” Johnny says sharply. The anger in his voice is evident, and it seems so out of place in a situation like this that Taeyong whips his head up from Mark’s hair to look at Johnny in confusion.

“Neither of you guys are letting anyone down,” Johnny continues, voice getting louder and louder. “You two have been _killing yourselves_ working so hard, nonstop for the better part of a fucking _decade_ , and it _pisses me off_ that you guys think what you do isn’t enough.”

“Johnny…” Taeyong warns. _We’re supposed to be gentle_ , Taeyong doesn’t say. _We’re supposed to be calm and kind, not angry. And why are you upset when it’s just a fact of life that we feel this way? When I, at least, deserve to feel this way? This is nothing to be upset over._

“No! It makes me so _fucking angry_ that you guys feel like this! And I know it’s not the members who have ever said we’ve been disappointed in you guys, because neither of you has ever let any one of us down at any point in time, okay? _Never_.

“We know it’s the company. We know it’s the company that’s working you down to the bone, we know it’s the company that has impossibly high expectations of you two, and we know it’s the company that puts all this pressure on you guys and gives you guys units and lines and other projects. And we _hate it_. Not because we feel cheated, by you guys at any rate, because we _know_ you’ve worked to _earn it_ and, again, it’s the _company_ that’s pulling all of these shitty moves. We hate it because it’s _killing you guys_. It’s _killing_ both of you and you guys would rather push yourselves to collapse before saying anything, and I’m _so fucking angry_ that the company has made it that way.”

Johnny’s pushed himself off of the floor and is pacing, mussing up his hair like he always does when he’s aggravated. Taeyong’s too shocked to react, and Mark is also staring at Johnny wide-eyed and a little bit frightened. An angry Johnny is a scary Johnny, and the Johnny that stands before them now is _livid_.

“I’m angry because we can’t make you guys see any differently either, no matter what we do or say. You guys are the backbones, the pillars of not just this unit but the entire team, and I know that’s a lot of pressure and it makes you feel like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, but that’s why the rest of us are here, y’know? We’re supposed to be there for each other as support, and I’m angry at myself, mostly, that we haven’t been able to be that for you.”

Johnny crumples onto the floor again, the explosion of his thoughts having drained him. Seeing Johnny like that _hurts_ , and Taeyong opens his mouth to speak, to reassure Johnny that he and the rest of the members are doing more than enough, that it’s not their fault that he and Mark feel like this, but Mark gets there first.

“I know you guys are there for me,” he counters quietly, “but it’s hard to get out of my head, especially when there’s so much… all the time….”

“That’s why we’re here to remind you, hm?” Taeyong says. “And I’d do well to remember it too, that we’re a team. All of us.”

He looks at Johnny, then, Johnny who’s already looking at him again. _I’m sorry_ , Taeyong doesn’t say when their eyes meet. _I’m sorry I forget to be vulnerable when I know that it’s what would be best for us at times, and I’m sorry for making you worry._ But Johnny smiles like he understands anyways.

Mark takes a deep breath against Taeyong’s neck. It tickles, but Taeyong doesn’t complain because when Mark opens his eyes again, Taeyong can tell that the spark is back.

There’s a tiredness at the edges of Mark’s eyes that mirror Taeyong’s, but his eyes no longer look lifeless and Taeyong doesn’t quite know what he and Johnny—mostly Johnny—have done but he barely cares because his little lion cub is back.

“I know,” Mark replies, and his voice sounds so strong and so much like _Mark_ that Taeyong thinks he could cry. “I know you guys are there for me, and I think I really needed to hear it out loud this time.”

“Well, I’d say Johnny took care of that pretty well,” Taeyong says. Johnny doesn’t even look embarrassed and Taeyong is so, _so_ fond.

“Yeah,” Mark agrees, smiling. “But I’ve been leaning a lot on you, too, Taeyong-hyung, so thank you for taking care of me when I didn’t… when I didn’t know how to ask for it and when I didn’t know what was wrong.”

“That’s what mom and dad are here for, right?” Johnny teases. 

Mark buries his face in his hands, whining in protest, “When are you ever going to let that go?”

Johnny bursts out laughing, the full-belly laugh that Taeyong loves, and Taeyong can’t help but join in, pinching Mark’s cheeks and cooing at their little baby.

Mark starts laughing too, and the practice room is full of light, and for the first time in a long time, Taeyong feels truly, truly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> this started off as a sort of impassioned plea to get people to stop giving markyong shit for doing their jobs and for doing them well, and to recognize & respect that they’re so incredibly overworked yet NEVER complain about it, but as i kept going, i began to kind of hate what i was writing, so i think i failed in my original goal :S i’m sorry if the characters seem one-dimensional and flat in this fic and for not doing them justice :C but i’m posting anyways bc that’s just who i am as a person lol
> 
> please point out any mistakes bc this, as always, is horribly unbeta’d and i didn’t proofread it because i uhhh began to kind of hate what i was writing (2)
> 
> (also the idea for this fic happened before we realized how crazy hc’s schedule was recently, which is why he isn’t more heavily featured a;lsdkjf)
> 
> comments & kudos are always appreciated ^.^ ♡
> 
>   
>  [twt](https://twitter.com/maddogmp3) || [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/maddogmp3)


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